Larissa Ione - Ecstasy Unveiled

But she didn’t think so. Her other Primori, a werewolf, was long-lived but not immortal, so once he died or had fulfilled whatever destiny made him critical to the fate of the world, she would be left with only Kynan… and everyone knew that Memitim never guarded only one Primori.

Surely the honor of keeping Kynan safe would fall to one of her brethren, and she’d earn her wings for a job well done.

She couldn’t wait.

Earth sucked, as humans these days liked to say.

Sighing, she visualized the living room of her Italian villa and flashed from the mountain to her house. She’d been born nearby, and even after thousands of years, she still felt the pull that brought her home every day.

The soles of her boots clacked on the beige and gold stone tiles as she moved toward the kitchen. Usually she’d turn on the stereo, get some Mozart going, but excitement still stirred her blood, and hunger rumbled her stomach.

She eyed the fruit bowl on her dining room table and the dish of fine Italian chocolate on her kitchen counter, waffled… and then reached for a pomegranate.

Fruit is nature’s blessing , Rami used to say. We shouldn’t defile the bodies God gave us with spirits and unhealthful sweets.

Sure, none of that could hurt her, but Rami had been devout and pure, even before he’d been plucked out of his human life at the customary age of nineteen to become a Memitim, and as her teacher in all things holy, he’d been a strict taskmaster. Which, she thought, as she palmed a candy, was all the more reason to indulge now and then. She actually looked forward to his giving her a stern lecture when she finally saw him again.

A faint twinge streaked across her right wrist. Odd. She twisted her arm to view the two quarter-sized Primori marks on the underside. Chase’s heraldi had been there for eight years, was the same color as her skin, the thin lines raised like a brand or the outline of a fresh tattoo. But Kynan’s was new, only three weeks old, and she still hadn’t gotten used to seeing it. Frowning, she looked closer. The edges were pink… swelling rapidly… it began to burn, glow, and she dropped the candy with a gasp.

Kynan, one of the few untouchable people on the planet, was in danger.

Lore stood at the entrance to an upstate New York mansion, fists clenched and watching Kynan search the huge-ass sitting room, S-shaped stang in one hand and holy water in the other. Apparently, Croucher demons had set up shop in the dwelling, and Kynan intended to take them out before the wealthy family who lived there got too talky about what was going on. And before someone got hurt.

The Aegis to the rescue .

Bunch of do-gooder, holier-than-thou hypocrites. Lore had never liked Guardians all that much, but the dislike had turned to downright hatred two decades ago, when one of his contracted hits had been a Guardian who’d pissed off the wrong demon. The Guardian had been good enough at his job that he’d nearly taken Lore out.

Almost getting whacked wasn’t what had annoyed Lore—he’d deserved it for letting his guard down. What had gotten Lore all worked up was the fact that the Guardian had used some seriously underhanded, sleazy methods for catching and killing demons, including keeping cages full of baby demons to torture until adults came to save the little ones.

Lore didn’t harbor a whole lot of love for demons, but there were some things you just didn’t do. Er… yeah . Lore’s hypocrite switch flipped at that, because some of those things you just didn’t do had been done by him during his hell years as an assassin. He shot Kynan a glance, and okay, Lore had no qualms about putting that guy down. They’d been enemies since they first identified each other as competition for the same woman. Back then, Lore had hoped for an opportunity to take the guy’s head off, which made the fact that Lore had brought Kynan back to life after he’d been bled out so ironic. Then again, he’d only resurrected Kynan because he’d hated seeing Gem in pain.

This time, he wouldn’t have to see it.

The slave-bond on Lore’s chest pulsed, marking time in the countdown to his deadline, and there was no sense in waiting. Lore strode inside, his boots striking the black-veined red marble and announcing his presence with no subtlety whatsoever. Lore never had been subtle.

Instantly, Kynan swung around. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was a knot of suspicion and snarl, and yeah, there was no love lost between them.

Lore didn’t remove his glove; too obvious. He’d power-punch his death special through the leather. “I want to call a truce.”

Kynan snorted. “I hadn’t heard that hell froze over.”

Funny guy. Lore almost regretted having to kill him. Almost. “True story. I figure the more I get to know my brothers, the more you and I will have to see each other, and I’m thinking brawls at family picnics are frowned upon.”

“Clearly you don’t know your brothers,” Kynan said wryly, and Lore experienced a weird sensation… as if maybe he could like the human under the right circumstances.

Ruthlessly, he shoved aside the candy-ass sentiments and grew a set. His sister’s life was at stake, here. “Well, that’s sort of the point of hanging around with them.” Not that that was going to happen. He’d made Sin a promise, and this time, he wouldn’t fail her. “So what do you say?”

Skepticism put shadows in Kynan’s denim-blue eyes, and Lore’s palms dampened with sweat. “I haven’t thanked you for saving my life.”

“No need.” Actually, some serious sucking up would be cool, considering how much pain Deth had put Lore through for using his power of resurrection.

“Bullshit.” Kynan jammed his stang into the weapons harness criss-crossing his chest, the sound of metal sliding home into its leather housing ringing out in the cavernous space. “No way am I letting you hold that over my head for eternity. I’ll thank you, and somehow, I’ll make us even.”

They’d be even when Kynan was the guest of honor at his own wake. And wait… eternity? What the hell did he mean by eternity? Lore eyed the gold chain hanging around Kynan’s neck, the one Lore was supposed to grab after killing him. Wraith had given him the crystal amulet… did it bestow magical protection or longevity?

Well, there was only one way to find out. “Fine. I accept your thanks. Truce?” Lore offered his hand, let his gift fire up with so much power that his arm burned from the top symbol at the crook of his neck to his fingertips. If he took off his jacket, he knew every glyph would be glowing like a brand.

For a long time, Kynan just stood there. Take it, take it … Lore made a come-on gesture with his fingers, hoping the guy would get with the program. Finally, Kynan nodded.

And held out his hand. “Truce.”

Idess materialized inside a house—an expensive one, judging by the decor. Instantly, an intense itch flared up between her shoulder blades along the twin marks where her wings would someday sprout. They were like twin demon sensors, and right now, they were screaming warnings.

In the center of a richly decorated but spacious room, Kynan was facing off with a huge male clad in black leather. The male must be a demon, and somehow the source of the danger vibes that buzzed through her as though she was gripping an electric wire. But how could he be a threat to Kynan? The male wasn’t a fallen angel; she’d sense that.

Still, Kynan’s heraldi was searing her arm, so the impossibility of the situation didn’t matter. She flashed between the two men, using the element of surprise and her superior strength to slam her palms into the stranger’s massive chest and heave him across the room.